


A Swiss Army Knife, Chewing Gum, and Me

by clgfanfic



Category: MacGyver (TV), War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac and Paul take a trip to the wrong place at the wrong time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Swiss Army Knife, Chewing Gum, and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #7 and later in Black Ops #3 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"So, are we winning?"_

 

          Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse walked along the quiet mountain trail, taking little comfort in the tranquillity of the pine, oak and poplar-peppered forest surrounding him.  The Army Special Forces officer grappled with the fact that five days earlier he had nearly died.  Had nearly been killed was more accurate, he corrected.

          Not that Martin Cole didn't have a damned good reason for wanting the soldier dead.  Ironhorse had shot and killed his wife, Sara, a very beautiful, very _human_ young woman four days earlier.

          The Colonel stopped, leaning one hand against a stout pine, the other pushing back the black hair scattered across his forehead by the light breeze wiffling through the trees.

          He had thought she was an alien.

          The image of Sara's rent and bleeding chest flashed through his mind, a redundant searing pain, and he forced it away as best he could.  A frown tugged his usually handsome face into a vulnerable mask.  He would _not_ blame himself.  It was an accident.  He couldn't keep blaming himself and still fight this war with the aliens.

          There was no possible way he could have known that she was an innocent hostage.  The alien invaders from Mor'tax had never taken a human hostage before.  There was simply no way to know, nothing to tip him off, no way of reacting differently.

          He had to accept that.  He had to believe it.

          The piercing black eyes dropped closed for a moment and he sighed.  But he couldn't accept it.

          The two alien-blended men with Sara Cole had been shooting at him, he argued with himself.  What else _could_ he do?  With a frustrated snort, Ironhorse stepped away from the pine, his hands coming to rest on his hips.  _They_ had opened fire.  He had to return it to save his own life.

          But if he'd just been more careful.  If he'd just seen that she wasn't armed, wasn't threatening him.

          _Stop_ , he commanded himself.  _This isn't good.  It's too late to second-guess it now.  I've got to let it go.  The mission_ cannot _be compromised_.

          The Mor'taxans wanted the planet.  And, as he'd told Martin Cole, Sara was a casualty of battle.  A battle for control of the Earth.  But a part of the soldier clung tenaciously to the guilt.  He was part of Delta Force, for Christ's sake.  He'd spent more hours than he could count rehearsing exactly that kind of situation, and in each of those scenarios the hostages _survived_.

          If he'd just looked closer at the young woman's eyes, but he couldn't.  He'd learned early on in this new war to avoid that.  The inhuman stare he'd found looking back at him was like a living nightmare – a constant reminder of the dangers they faced every day.  Still, if he hadn't assumed that they were all aliens…

          _If, if, if!  Damn it!_

          Glancing up at the broken, early afternoon sunshine falling through the trees, Ironhorse found it impossible to appreciate the fact that he was taking a vacation from fighting a full blown covert war against beings from another planet.  Beings that took over human bodies in order to carry out any number of atrocities on an unsuspecting population.  If Sara Cole had been one of those absorbed human/ aliens he would have been glad that he could free her trapped soul, but instead, he had snuffed it out.

          _No!  No more dwelling on what couldn't,_ can't _be changed!_   He paced stiffly down the shadowed-painted trail.  Why was he backsliding?

          He'd tried to make peace with the incident, even resorted to speaking to a government-contracted psychiatrist, but it did little good.  He couldn't tell the doctor _why_ it had happened.  Then Sara Cole's grieving husband had kidnapped and nearly killed him, and he'd realized that he'd acted in the only way he could.

          Out of the ashes of that incident Ironhorse had emerged a fragile, but whole being once again.  He _was_ healing, slowly.

          At least, he thought he was.

          Earlier, before Martin's intervention, while Ironhorse was still working his way past the grief, the civilian leader of the anti-alien Project, Harrison Blackwood, had ordered the Colonel to spend some time alone – to sort out his feelings, Blackwood had said.  The soldier had balked at the notion then, arguing that he didn't take orders from civilians, but now Paul hoped that the two-day trip to the scientist's mountain cabin would be a respite from the nightmares and the grief.  Still, he wished there was someone he could talk to.  Maybe he should have asked the man to come along.

          At least he didn't feel guilty about taking the time off.  With the mobile phone, beeper, and high-powered radio he'd hauled along, if trouble did arise he'd be informed and respond as the situation required.  In war you went on.

          Turning off and taking an old half-hidden trail, Ironhorse continued through the forest, his pace brisk.  Just because he was on a two-day retreat didn't mean he could afford to let up on his physical conditioning.  Tomorrow he'd jog around the small lake, but today he just wanted to walk, taking in the beauty of the Sierras and letting nature help heal his spirit, if that was possible.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A faint sound echoed through the dense tangle of trees and Ironhorse stepped into the protection of the undergrowth and froze.  What he'd heard wasn't an animal.  Listening in the darkness, the Colonel located the direction the sound was coming from and began to work his way toward the source, silent as an owl's shadow.  He stopped, concealed in the boughs, and peered out at a man seated on a flat rock at the lake-shore.

          Whoever he was, Ironhorse silently summed up, he was unconcerned about possible onlookers as he manipulated some kind of control box with a small toggle, sending a small, solar-cell-powered model boat skimming over the quiet lake surface.  A second box, an oscilloscope of some sort, sat in front of the man, its twisting signal holding the majority of the stranger's attention.

          While slightly taller than the soldier, the man possessed a similar build.  He wasn't military, though, Ironhorse decided.  The light blondish-brown hair was too long, and the air around the man was too relaxed for him to be military.

          The stranger muttered under his breath as he directed the boat in a complicated sweep pattern, skimming over the tiny waves.  Ironhorse continued to watch, curious about what he was doing, but nothing the man did provided any clues.

          The stranger finally nodded approvingly, then a series of beeps issued from the scope.  "Yes!" he exclaimed, leaning back and stomping his feet against the damp ground, clearly happy with whatever the results indicated.

          The Colonel grinned; the enthusiasm reminded him of the Blackwood Project's computer and communications expert, Norton Drake.  Deciding the man represented no threat, and was probably staying at one of the other cabins scattered around the area, Ironhorse backtracked to the trail and followed it into the thick forest, returning to his own thoughts.

          Eventually he re-emerged at the lakeshore, finding the stranger still there.  The man smiled a greeting as the Colonel reached the sandy shore.  "Afternoon," he said, his gaze expertly sizing up the soldier.  There was a faint trace of recognition, or curiosity in the man's eyes.

          Paul nodded.  "It's a nice one."

          "I couldn't agree with you more," the man said, his attention returning to the small boat when three sharp beeps issued from the scope.  The handsome face wrinkled into a frown and he sighed.  "Looks like I still have a few bugs to work out…" he muttered.

          "Good luck," Ironhorse said, realizing that the stranger was absorbed in whatever he was doing, and probably didn't need any interruptions, especially from a half-depressed soldier.

          "Thanks," he replied, digging into the front pocket of his jeans.  "I might need it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse completed his hike and was heading back to the Forrester cabin when he spotted the stranger for a third time.  Carrying the small boat and the scope, along with a bag full of equipment hanging off one shoulder, the man didn't notice the Colonel until he was nearly on top of him.  The soldier smiled at the sheepish expression that passed over the stranger's face.  It was obvious that he wasn't used to being taken unawares.

          "Hello again.  You staying up here?" the stranger asked.

          "The Forrester cabin," Ironhorse said, nodding to the west.

          "I know it.  Looks like a real nice place.  I'm at the Thonton cabin, about a mile away."  The man set the boat and scope down, brushed off his hand on the seat of his jeans, then extended it to the Colonel.  "Name's MacGyver."

          The soldier took the proffered palm.  "Ironhorse, Paul Ironhorse.  Looks like you've got a handful there.  Can I help?"

          Mac smiled.  "Yeah, great.  It's not far.  I'll make you a cup of coffee in return."

          The Colonel nodded.  "I'd be a fool to pass up a cup of coffee."  He grinned.  "Given the usual results when I manufacture a pot."

          Mac chuckled as he handed Ironhorse the boat, and tucked the oscilloscope under his arm.  "Follow me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          _More than passable_ , Ironhorse concluded, enjoying the fresh, hot cup of coffee.  He noticed MacGyver had opted for hot tea.  They'd exchanged small talk on the walk to the cabin, the Colonel pleasantly discovering that he enjoyed the man's company.  MacGyver was an amazing well of information.

          "You come up here often?" Mac asked, finishing with the blaze he was coaxing to life in the flagstone fireplace.  He sank down on a well-worn couch and reached for his tea.

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "This is the first time.  The cabin belongs to a friend of mine.  I needed a couple of days away…" he trailed off, the confused expression on Sara's face before she collapsed filling his memory.  He shook his head slightly.

          MacGyver nodded his understanding.  "Yeah.  Me, too.  And it gives me an opportunity to play with my toys," he added, hiking a thumb towards the boat and a pile of mechanical apparatus scattered across the kitchen table.  "So, Paul, what do you do?"

          "Army," Ironhorse replied.

          MacGyver's eyes widened slightly.  "I should've guessed," he said, then smiled.

          "Oh?"  Ironhorse let the small crooked grin escape.  "That obvious, huh?"

          "Not exactly, but you do remind me of a couple friends of mine.  One's ex-military, now ex-cop turned social worker, and the other's still in the military… so to speak."[1]

          "So to speak?" the Colonel asked, getting up and carrying his cup over to the sink where he rinsed it out and left it on the drain board.  "Isn't that like being a little pregnant?"

          Mac grinned.  "Believe it or not, he's a guerilla leader in Peru, fighting for his people's independence," he explained, carrying his own empty cup over to the sink.

          _Then he and I do have a little in common_ , the soldier thought.  _Wonder if the aliens are finally active in Peru_.  "What about you?" Ironhorse asked as they walked back to sit near the fireplace.

          MacGyver shrugged.  "I'm a free-lance troubleshooter with the Phoenix Foundation," he explained, noting the way the Ironhorse's eyebrows rose.  "Ever heard of them?"

          "Yes, I have.  My tail's been saved by Phoenix Foundation equipment on more than one occasion.  It's a very impressive organization."

          Mac nodded his agreement.  "You won't get any argument from me.  Hungry?" he asked, hearing his own stomach rumble.  "I've got plenty."

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "Only if you let me return the favor tomorrow."

          "Sounds fine by me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After dinner they continued talking until Ironhorse finally checked his watch, finding it nearly nine.  He shook his head ruefully.  "I guess I'd better head back.  I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation—"

          "No interruption," Mac countered.  "I enjoyed it.  I'll be working out the last of the bugs in my experiment tomorrow.  Stop by the lake.  I noticed some good-sized fish waiting to get caught."

          Ironhorse's crooked grin split across his face.  "I just might do that.  There's some gear at the cabin."  He stood and headed for the door, MacGyver following.  "Maybe I'll give it a test run."

          "I'll see you then."

          "Thanks for the coffee," Ironhorse said, shaking hands with Mac.  "And supper.  Remember, tomorrow I'll return the favor."

          "It's a deal."

          The troubleshooter watched the Colonel leave, wondering what could have driven a man like Paul Ironhorse into seclusion.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The walk back to the cabin gave Ironhorse time to think.  His talk with MacGyver forcefully reminded him of one of the side effects of the covert war he fought – the isolation.  Not that he didn't care for and enjoy the company of the civilian members of the Blackwood Project, but there were times he missed the range, turnover, and number of acquaintances he'd known in regular Army life.  And, while he had only developed a few close friendships over the years, he did enjoy the variety of perspectives and personalities military life offered.

          He'd definitely stop by the lake in the morning and find out what kind of experiment MacGyver was working on.

          Nearing the dark Forrester cabin, Ironhorse slowed, forehead wrinkling.  Something felt… wrong.

          His hand twitched back, checking the battle baton sheathed and lying along his backbone under the blue-jean jacket.

          In the light of a half-full moon he could make out the outline of the black and tan Bronco, sitting where he'd parked it next to the side of the cabin.  It listed slightly to one side, the air having leaked out of the two tires on the passenger side.

          Ironhorse stepped silently into the shadows and crouched down.

          The cabin was quiet – no lights, no sounds – but there was something…

          What was out of place?

          He rose to a half-crouch and faded farther into the trees.  Circling the cabin, he cautiously pushed closer, listening as his well-honed internal alarms clattered loudly.  Whoever, or whatever they were, they must have settled in someplace to wait for him.

          But why?  It made no sense.

          Unless they were aliens.

          But how could they know he was here?  Unless they—

          No.  The security at the Cottage was the best.  There was no way aliens could infiltrate the grounds without World War III breaking out.  He touched the radio attached to his belt.  He would have been notified.

          Moving closer to the cabin, he heard the crickets cease their song, and froze. There was someone else out in the trees with him.  Ironhorse's well-trained gaze swept the landscape, looking for likely ambush positions and possible sources of cover.

          The shot that exploded the quiet night came from a location in the trees near the Bronco.  Ironhorse felt the slug as it seared past his ear.  He dove for cover, gasping as a slug from the hail of fire following him plowed across his back, nicking his shoulder-blade and sending an explosion of pain racing down his left arm.

          The force tipped him over, his legs slipping out from under him and depositing Paul on his hands and knees on the pine-needle padded ground.  Before he could scramble to cover more cracks tore through the darkness and Ironhorse's arms gave out as a second slug grazed through his black hair.

          Pulling himself along on his elbows, the Colonel slithered into a shallow gulch carved out by the seasonal rains and snow run-off.  A series of sick colors popped like tiny fireworks in front of his open but unseeing eyes and he rubbed his hand over them, making a quick evaluation of the situation – bad, but not impossible… yet.

          Who the hell were these guys?  They had to be aliens or thieves.  And thieves wouldn't wait for him.  Aliens.

          The thought chilled him.  At least he still had the pager, and…  He checked the radio again only to find twisted metal and plastic where a shot had passed through the piece of machinery, stopping before it embedded itself in his hip.  His luck was holding.

          He still had his battle baton, resting along his backbone, but the rest of his weapons were locked in the Bronco.  He had the keys, _if_ he got the opportunity to use them.

          Pushing and pulling his way along the wash, Ironhorse sought better cover.  The movement forced him to hold his breath to keep from making any noise that could give away his location.  The sounds of his attackers moving out from their positions froze the soldier and he pressed into the cool forest floor.  _Two… no, three_.  He gulped in a lungful of air and held it, hearing one call out to his fellows.  Definitely aliens; there was no mistaking that guttural grunt-squeal that passed as a language.

          Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, the soldier pulled himself forward, then pressed into a narrow space among a tangle of fallen tree trunks and brush, one limb brushing painfully over the shoulder wound.  Reaching back, he withdrew the long blade and waited, trying to ignore the blood that oozed over his scalp and ran down his neck, soaking into his flannel shirt.

          The three Mor'taxans split up, moving off into the trees, searching for the wounded man.

          Ironhorse cursed silently.  Whoever they'd absorbed seemed to know the woods, and worse, had a basic understanding of search strategies.  He waited until they moved well past his position, then crawled out and headed cautiously back to the Bronco.

          Reaching the vehicle, he ground his teeth together.  The rear door had been jimmied; his arsenal bag was missing.

          The possibility that the weapons and the mobile phone were still in the cabin was remote, but he had to check.  Easing along the outside wall, he paused below one dark window.  He took several deep breaths to force back the nausea that suddenly struck.

          _Damn, damn, damn_ , he chanted silently.  The numbness engulfing his shoulder and back was wearing off, the pain rapidly escalating to match the stabbing throb in his head.

          Turning, he checked the window.  It was locked.  He moved toward the door, but stopped when he heard the soft brush of movement over the old, thick carpet inside.

          There was at least one more alien in there, waiting.  They really were good.

          Ironhorse headed down the side of the building to the backdoor.  It was locked, but he remembered the simple old lock.  Wedging the blade of the battle baton between the slightly warped wood of the door and the frame, he prayed the latch wouldn't squeak as he flipped it up and felt the knob give under his hand.  Easing inside, he moved slowly and silently to the wall alongside the door leading into the hallway.

          He tapped the butt of the Battle Baton against the wall, the soft thud echoing down the passage.  Soft footfalls followed it back toward the kitchen, and Ironhorse clutched the blade tighter.  _Wait… a little closer… wait… Now!_

          The Colonel lunged, the blade shooting out to disappear into the midsection of the man.  Stepping back, Ironhorse watched the camper drop to his knees, his features immediately beginning to dissolve like over-heated wax.

          Sliding past the dying alien, Paul headed for the living room, finding the mobile phone still sitting on the coffee table where he'd left it.

          He scooped it up and punched out the number to the Cottage.

          Norton Drake answered on the second ring.  "Yeah, mon," he drawled in his Jamaican best.

          "Ironhorse.  Activate the Omegans, I've got aliens up here.  Tell them it's code red, level three."

          "Shit," was the fervent reply, and Ironhorse could hear Drake buzzing the coach house.  "You okay, big guy?" the hacker asked.

          "More or less," the soldier hedged.  "And keep Blackwood the hell away from here."

          "I'll try, but it'll be like trying to drown a fish."

          Paul cursed quietly, catching the sound of footfalls on the hard-packed ground just outside the cabin.  One or more of the aliens had circled back.  "Damn," he breathed.  His brow furrowed, catching the distant alarm sounding at the Cottage on the phone.  "Gotta go, Norton.  Make it A-S-A-P."

          "Be careful!" was the last thing Ironhorse heard as he grabbed his jacket and cat-footed to the back door, slipping out with the phone and disappearing into the darkness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Pushing into the woods, the soldier berated himself for walking into an ambush.  He didn't have a damn thing but the battle baton to work with.  He slipped the jacket on, wincing as the motion sent a searing flare of pain across his shoulders and down his arm.  It was going to get damned cold before the night was over.  He had to find shelter until the Omegans arrived.

          "Damn it," he whispered through clenched teeth.  He wasn't that familiar with the area, his weapons were in the hands of the enemy, he was wounded and being hunted, but at least he had the phone.  If he could find cover and wait for the Omega Squad, he'd be fine.  By chopper they were less than an hour away.  Where to go?

          He immediately discounted the small general store that provisioned most of the cabin residents.  It was a good fifteen miles away, too far, especially in his condition.  Most of the cabins were empty this time of year, so those were a possibility…

          MacGyver.

          Someone who worked for the Phoenix Foundation would surely have a weapon. _Hell_ , Ironhorse thought, rubbing a shaky hand over his sweating forehead, _he has enough stuff there to build something if he didn't bring one along_.

          Setting the direction by the stars overhead, Ironhorse headed back to the troubleshooter's cabin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Mac crouched in the shadows, waiting to see who had made the soft rustle that had caught his attention.  The earlier gunshots had drawn him into the woods. They'd come from the direction of Ironhorse's cabin.  He pressed up against the rough bark of an aged pine and waited until silence returned.  He liked Ironhorse, and the thought that Paul might be dead nagged at him.  With a deep breath he pushed off the tree and headed further into the dark.

          A muted thud echoed nearby, causing MacGyver to jump.  Whoever was out there, they were darn quiet.  He eased out of his squat and inched forward in a near crawl until he reached a small clearing.

          Ironhorse stood near a tree, nearly disappearing into the dark shadows.  With one hand on the trunk and the other on his thigh, the soldier fought to catch his breath. In the light of the half moon, Mac could see the black shine of blood on the man's hair, neck and part of his face.

          Stepping clear of the cover, Mac approached the wounded man with his hands extended in a gesture of non-aggression.  "Paul, it's me," he whispered, "MacGyver."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The soldier shook his head and shifted slightly, a long blade coming up in his hand.

          "Easy, Colonel," Mac whispered, his gaze flickering between the weapon and the soldier's eyes.  "I heard the shots.  I just wanted to help."

          "Stay back," Ironhorse hissed softly.  Fishing into a rear pocket, the soldier extracted a small device and pointed it in Mac's direction.

          The troubleshooter frowned when he recognized the Geiger counter.  The device disappeared back into Paul's pocket and the knife lowered.  "Okay, come over."

          Mac stepped up, noticing the way Ironhorse favored his left arm.  Taking a quick look over his shoulder, he saw the back wound for the first time.  "What's going on?" he asked, steadying Paul as he swayed on his feet.  "Why a Geiger counter?"

          Ignoring the questions, the Colonel countered with one of his own.  "Do you have a car?"

          "No."

          "Gun?"

          "No."

          "Great.  Follow me."

          Together they moved off toward the Thonton cabin.  "Just a minute, Colonel. I'd like to hear what the heck we're up against here."

          "I'll explain as soon as we're someplace safe."

          Mac pressed his lips together to keep from arguing and followed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          MacGyver and Ironhorse slowed as they reached the cabin, cautiously inching toward the dark structure.  The Colonel drew up short, nearly shoving Mac to the ground as three of the aliens exited the building, speaking in their native tongue.

          The two men waited until the invaders disappeared back into the trees before continuing.  "I don't recognize the language," Mac commented dryly.  "Care to explain?"

          "Terrorists," Ironhorse said through gritted teeth.

          MacGyver frowned, looping an arm around the soldier's waist for support and helping him toward the cabin.  "From?"

          The soldier weighed the possibility of convincing MacGyver with the Project's standard explanation… slim to none, he concluded.  "Sorry," he ground out, "but that's need to know."

          Mac didn't press the point as he helped Paul into the dark interior of the cabin, then headed for the kitchen sink.  Groping in a drawer, he fished out several clean cloths, then rummaged under the sink for the large first aid kit.  He managed three steps back to the injured man before Ironhorse was moving away, motioning for MacGyver to follow.

          Maneuvering into the back bedroom, the Colonel raised the lock on the window and eased the pane up as the front door opened.  The two men scrambled out, Ironhorse moving sluggishly with his injuries.  Shots accompanied them into the trees, digging out wood splinters near their heads and forcing them to protect their eyes as best they could.

          "They're good," Mac commented, falling into step beside Ironhorse.  "Whoever they are."

          "Do you know this area?" Paul asked, his black gaze sweeping the landscape as he orientated himself, noting the possible LZ's the Omegans would use.  The graze along the side of his head blurred his vision, making it harder to see and concentrate.  He cursed softly under his breath.

          "So-so," Mac replied.

          "I've seen a map," Ironhorse offered with a wry grin.  "But this graze's scrambling my vision.  Any suggestions for digging in until help gets here would be appreciated."

          Mac thought a moment.  "There's a small boat shed on a floating dock.  Belongs to one of the other cabins.  There might be something in there we could use.  At least it would give me time to get these wounds cleaned and bound up before you lose more blood."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Lead the way."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The dark, musty interior of the boathouse hid the two men, but offered little respite from the increasing cold.  Ironhorse shivered as MacGyver used a small flashlight to check the Colonel's scalp wound first.

          "I'm going to clean this up a little."

          Paul grunted in reply, then sucked in a hiss as Mac pressed a moist gauze pad against the mass of dried and coagulating blood weighing down his hair.

          "I know it stings, but I don't want to use the lake water.  Looks nasty enough to be a concussion."

          "Affirmative," Paul responded, trying hard not to lose the contents weighing heavily in his stomach.

          "You're shocky, too."

          Ironhorse's shoulders rose slightly and fell back into place in an off-handed acknowledgment.

          Mac removed the pad and applied several more from the large first-aid kit, binding them into place.  Turning his attention to the shoulder wound, he shook his head.  "I'll have to cut you out of the shirt to get at this one."  He squatted down to rummage in the first aid kit.

          "Just put a dressing on it.  It'll hold until we get out of here."

          MacGyver shifted back to rest on his heels, staring up at the Colonel in the murky darkness.  "And how are we going to pull that off?"

          "I called for troops.  I'll have to get back to the Forrester cabin, in—"  He checked his watch, blinking several time before the hands stopped undulating.  "Half an hour.  You can stay here.  If any more of them are looking for us, they'll follow me.  You should be safe so long as you don't reveal your location."

          MacGyver snorted softly.  "You aren't going to make that kind of hike alone, Paul.  Not in your condition."  Moving back, he rigged a dressing and secured it over the seeping wound on the soldier's back.

          "I've faced worse," was the soft but intense reply.

          "How many of these _terrorists_ are there?"

          "I saw six, but there could be more."  Ironhorse groaned as Mac cinched the bandage tight, his fingers curling tighter around the edge of the bench he leaned against, fighting the nausea and lightheadedness that spotted his vision.

          "I want to immobilize that arm," MacGyver said, reaching out to position the limb across Ironhorse's chest, but the soldier stepped away.

          "No, can't risk it."

          Mac looked down, for the first time noticing that Ironhorse was favoring one leg.  "You get hit in the leg, too?"

          "No, just a wrenched a knee during a hasty retreat," Paul explained, trying to shift his weight back onto the leg and only managing it for a moment.

          MacGyver rummaged across the workbench, grabbing up two foot-long shanks of wood, several discarded rags, and a length of twine.  Carrying them back to the wounded man, he fashioned a support for the wounded knee.  "If you don't mind, I'll stick with you," he said as he worked, then fitted the remaining supplies back into the first aid kit.  "Wouldn't want all this good work to go to waste."

          Ironhorse scowled, but he was too tired to argue.  "Did you get a good look at them?"

          Mac shook his head.  "Why?"

          Ironhorse shrugged to avoid answering.  He wanted to know who the aliens had absorbed.  It might give him an edge if he knew what kind of information the creatures had access to, thanks to their human hosts.

          _Damn_ , he breathed silently.  _How the hell did they find me?_

          "Why don't you rest a while.  I'll keep a watch," MacGyver suggested.

          Ironhorse gave his head a slight shake.  "We need to use the darkness to get back to the cabin.  My squad won't be late."

          Mac considered the comment.  Ironhorse was obviously in a great deal of pain, but he was also worried.  The situation was critical.  The best thing he could do was stick with the soldier and play it by ear.  His gaze scanned the small room, catching sight of a dusty, but reasonable looking windbreaker that had been tossed into a corner on the bench.  Moving over, he picked it up and shook it out.  "Put this on.  It might help with the shock."

          Ironhorse accepted the jacket and let MacGyver help him maneuver into it, then snapped it closed over the one he already wore.  The Colonel knew he was only going to get worse as the shock and blood loss compounded his condition, but there was no alternative.  He couldn't let the aliens capture him.  He knew too much, was too much of a threat to Blackwood and the other Project members if they possessed his body.

          Paul regarded the man waiting for him.  MacGyver was calm, quick, and bright.  That was good; he didn't have time to babysit someone through the woods. He might have to tell him what they were facing, but not yet.  It would be easier if they could manage to kill one of the creatures.  The frothing slime their bodies were reduced to left little doubt as to their other-worldly origins.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Mac watched the soldier as he moved almost silently through the trees despite his injuries.  Whoever Ironhorse was, he was good.  Scary good.  But even he couldn't keep up the pace he'd set for them.  Who were these terrorists?  Why hadn't he heard about them?  And what would they want out here in the middle of nowhere?

          The two men had caught sight of some of the attackers earlier.  There were six, as Ironhorse had predicted.  Some wore National Park uniforms – which drew a soft curse across the Colonel's lips – while the others looked like ordinary campers. There was more to what was happening than Paul was willing to admit, but no matter how Mac worked it over in his mind, he couldn't fathom what it was.  He jogged up several feet to join the soldier as his head cocked slightly to one side.

          "What?" Mac asked.

          "Chopper," Ironhorse breathed, his relief clear.  "Help's here."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse and MacGyver reached the treeline near the Forrester cabin only to be met by a deafening roar as the chopper exploded.  They dropped down among the trees, Ironhorse rising up just far enough to catch sight of more aliens moving around the cabin and clearing.  It was worse than he'd first suspected, although he couldn't get an accurate count in the dark and confusion.

          He shook his head, a wave of dizziness passing.  Where were the Omegans?

          Given the pattern of the Uzi fire, only one of the Omegans had survived and was using the large pine tree for cover as he engaged in a heated firefight with the Mor'taxans.  He felt his gut squeeze into a hard fist.  The rest might have still been on board the chopper.

          He looked back at the downed Huey, lying in a macabre twisted heap in the center of the clearing.  It burned furiously, casting an eerie orange glow up the sides of the tall pines and sending writhing shadows of violence over the cabin.

          A low whistling hiss echoed out of the darkness and Ironhorse dove for cover, yelling, "Incoming!"

          A second fiery ball of light, flames, and flying dirt flew into the air.  MacGyver and the Colonel covered their heads with their arms as dirt and burning pine needles rained down on them; the ground heaved and trembled from the blast.

          "Ironhorse!"

          Mac looked up in time to see a tall, curly-headed man sliding in beside the wounded soldier.

          "Blackwood!" Ironhorse snarled.  "I told—"

          "Later, Colonel, we're in trouble here."

          "What—?"

          They were interrupted when a young sergeant emerged out of the darkness. "Good to see you, sir.  We're hip deep in alligators."

          "Explain," Ironhorse commanded, struggling to his feet with the unwanted assistance of Blackwood.

          "The sweep when we flew in showed this area's riddled with the—"  The sergeant glanced at MacGyver.  "Enemy.  The best estimate we have is thirty."

          "Thirty?" the Colonel gasped.  "What the hell's going on?"

          "We don't know," Blackwood said, taking up the explanation.  "But just after you called, Norton picked up a police report.  It seems our terrorists targeted a shopping mall in Santa Rosa.  And a second group hit a museum."

          "Derriman's at the mall with Omega B and C, Colonel," Stravrakos added.  "Ten bogies went in with automatic weapons and opened fire.  A suicide run, pure and simple.  Coleman's with Omega D at the museum.  And we heard more reports coming in as we left.  There just wasn't anyone left to spare.  Franklin and I came…"  His gaze flickered over to the burning chopper.  "It's just me and Dr. Blackwood, sir, but I do have a spare assault bag."

          Ironhorse's mind worked furiously, taking in the information and spinning it out into several possible scenarios.  That explained the lack of fire.  Four of them, and they were facing thirty plus aliens with heavy weapons…

          "Omega E is at the Cottage, Sigma Squad is on their way to replace them, and Blackjack is on standby in Portland.  Norton's getting General Wilson to authorize Delta reinforcements, but the enemy's acting faster than we can keep up."

          "This could be a final push," Blackwood added softly, meeting Ironhorse's eyes.

          "What's their deployment?" the Colonel asked.

          "Scattered, sir.  No pattern."

          Ironhorse cursed softly under his breath.  What the hell could the aliens be after? He thought for a moment, then stuck out his hand toward the sergeant.  "Map?"

          Stravrakos handed over the one he'd been using, and Ironhorse scanned it, then handed it back, ordering, "We're moving out.  Head for Baker Seven.  We'll take out as many as we can, but won't offer pursuit, understood?"  There were three nods.

          Stravrakos handed the Colonel a duffel bag and Ironhorse dug into it, pulling out a web belt with a M-9 in the holster.  He slipped the weapon on, then fished out an Uzi and offered it to MacGyver.

          "I'd rather not," he said.

          "Great," the Colonel muttered under his breath, "just what I need – _two_ pacifists.  Let's get moving."

          Blackwood reached out, gripping Ironhorse's arm.  "Colonel, you're hurt, maybe—"

          "Later, Doctor.  Let's go."

          MacGyver watched the threesome move as one, wondering what the devil he'd managed to stumble into _this_ time.  Pete might never forgive him…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By dawn the four sat huddled together in a small clearing in the thick woods near the lake.  They had encountered aliens twice during the night.

          "I count thirty-two, but there could be more," Ironhorse said, passing the small field glasses over.  Blackwood nodded his agreement.  "What're they doing?"

          The scientist shook his head.  "Why're you asking me?  It looks like they're sending several groups of three underwater," Blackwood stated the obvious.

          "Paul," MacGyver interrupted, "if I could get a hold of my boat, maybe we could find out what's in the lake that's got their attention.  I was picking up some unusual soundings yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to follow up on them."

          Ironhorse considered; it might be helpful to know if they were after barrels of interred aliens or something else – like a sunken warship.  But there was no one to send with the man.  "Sorry, but it's too dangerous," he said quietly.

          "Colonel," Harrison interrupted, pointing.  Three of the aliens emerged from the water, each carrying a large crystal, which they carried over and deposited on a jacket that had been spread out on the sand.

          MacGyver watched the men turn and proceed back to the lake, disappearing under the surface again.  He glanced over at the Colonel.  Ironhorse had a helluva lot of explaining to do, and _soon_ , too.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By mid-morning the aliens had pulled back from the lakeshore, drifting into the shade of the thick pines near the water's edge.  The pile of crystals had grown into a sizable heap, and seven more blended humans had joined the salvage efforts.

          The foursome moved constantly to keep from being discovered by small patrols roaming the area, looking for them, or moving pieces of incomprehensible machinery closer to the shoreline.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse pressed the "end" button on the mobile phone, passed it back to the sergeant, and shook his head.  The diversions continued.  A seaside resort had been attacked, then a community college campus and a county fair.  Whatever the aliens wanted in the lake was worth the destruction of over 120 of their comrades.  All of the soldiers who knew about the invasion were tied up with continuing outbreaks of activity. Back-up troops had been assigned to sensitive areas like the Cottage, the squads made up of men who didn't know that they might be facing aliens inside human bodies.

          The information caused Ironhorse's teeth to grind.  At least six more Omegans would be headed for their location as soon as there was a break in the action – _if_ there was a break.  He wished he could just call in a full-fledged attack on the lake, but they couldn't risk the publicity.  They had to find a way to take out this group and whatever they were working on by themselves.

          "Sir."

          Ironhorse turned to meet his NCO.  "Report, Sergeant," he said.

          "Mr. Drake called back with an update.  Our help's been canceled.  The E troops were diverted again.  Seems the terrorists attacked an elementary school, sir."

          Ironhorse sighed.  It was getting worse – no help, attacks continuing.  He wiped the sweat off his forehead.  "Okay, we're on our own, people.  If we can find out what the hell they're doing, maybe we can take them out."

          Blackwood reached out, resting a hand lightly on the Colonel's arm.  "Paul, are you sure?  You're hurt, and—"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Harrison," Ironhorse said, his voice firm but understanding, "they're risking a helluva lot; we've got to stop whatever they're doing here."

          "Is someone finally going to fill me in?" MacGyver asked, growing just a little annoyed at the secrecy.  "It might help me know what I should be looking for."

          "Let's move," Ironhorse told him.  " _Then_ we'll talk."

          MacGyver sighed and shook his head.  The way they were acting, you'd think aliens had invaded the planet!

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By late afternoon they had located a small half-cave tucked away in a shallow wash, carved out by several season's worth of snow run-off.  It provided a clear view of the shoreline and the aliens working around the crystals.

          The Colonel's shoulder was seeping, but not as badly as they had expected.  Harrison was about to ask how the soldier felt when Ironhorse held up his hand, then motioned them to take cover in the sparse undergrowth around the cave opening.  They watched as three of the aliens passed along the top of the wash opposite them – a ranger and two campers.

          Mac grimaced at the oozing sores draining down the men's faces.

          They waited until the rough brush of hiking boots across the pine-needle forest floor was lost before re-emerging from their cover.

          "They're not giving up, are they?" Mac commented softly as he and Blackwood joined the Colonel at the rear of the shelter.

          "No," was the Cherokee's taciturn reply.

          "That's not good," Harrison commented unnecessarily.  "Whatever they're doing, we've got to stop it."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "We don't have many options, Doctor."

          "That depends," Mac said, wiping the hair off his damp forehead.

          "On?"

          "What we can come up with," he said with a small smile.  "Improvisation, gentlemen."

          Ironhorse's black gaze scanned the landscape.  "We don't have much to work with.  But it'll have to do.  We can't let them—"  He stopped short, swallowing the rest of the sentence with a distasteful scowl.

          MacGyver watched as both Ironhorse and Blackwood looked away.  "Who are these men, Colonel?" he demanded softly.

          Black eyes looked back, locking on Mac's and the soldier recognized the seriousness reflected back.  "You might not believe this, Mr. MacGyver, but they're aliens."

          "As in extraterrestrials?" the troubleshooter questioned, his eyes rolling heavenward.  _I was just kidding!_

          "Yes.  They're from a planet called Mor'tax," Blackwood added.  "And they came here in 1953.  We were lucky then; they were infected by Earth's bacteria and went into some kind of deep hibernation."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "We've been fighting a covert war to repel an invasion for over a year," Ironhorse explained, giving the official cover-story time frame.  There was no reason to tell the man how long they'd actually been engaged against the Mor'taxans.

          Mac's eyebrows rose.  "They after the planet?"

          Ironhorse gave a curt nod.  "And they can possess human bodies, giving them access to the victim's knowledge, and providing them with an almost perfect camouflage to move around in public."

          "But they need access to radiation to destroy the bacteria they're exposed to, or they'll be defeated just as they were in 1953," Harrison continued.  "That's what those sores are that you saw on their faces.  There are—"

          "1953?" Mac interrupted, moving closer as Ironhorse swayed as he climbed to his feet.  "1953.  I remember…  They even tried using nuclear weapons against them…  These are the same aliens?"

          There was a pair of short nods.  "You remember the invasion of '53?" Harrison asked, surprised.

          Mac shook his head with a wry grin.  "I ran across some records at the Phoenix Foundation.  There was a top secret project set up afterwards, to study what had happened…  The Ezekiel Project.  One of the early Phoenix Foundation founders, a Dr. Emily Stideson worked with… Dr. Clayton Forrester—"

          "My adoptive father," the astrophysicist acknowledged.   "He knew this might happen, that we might have to fight these _things_ , again.  But no one wanted to listen."

          After a brief pause, the troubleshooter tilted his head slightly and asked seriously, "And are we winning?"

          "Most of the time," was the none-too-comforting reply from Stravrakos.

          "We cannot allow those things to take us alive," Ironhorse added.  "If they possessed my body, or Dr. Blackwood's…" he trailed off, the expression on MacGyver's face stating plainly that he comprehended the possibilities.

          "So, we'll just have to get ourselves out of this," Mac stated firmly.  "And I think you have all you need."

          "Oh?" the Colonel questioned.

          "Yeah," was the reply as the man fished in his pocket, pulling up two items so the soldier could see them.  "A Swiss Army knife, chewing gum…"  He smiled.  "…and me."  Ironhorse's eyebrows climbed.  "Oh, and I assume you have some explosives in that bag of yours?"

          The Colonel nodded slowly.

          Harrison followed suit, rummaging in his jean pockets.  "And a tuning fork, matches… and three rubber bands."

          Ironhorse allowed a crooked half-smile to lift some of the worry from his haggard face.  "Not to mention a battle baton, shoe laces and me.  That should just about cover it.  They won't know what hit 'em."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

           Ironhorse lay, looking up through the foliage at the rapidly darkening sky.  The small wash, overgrown with brush, gave them a perfect location to hide in.  He calculated that they had another twenty minutes before it was dark enough to risk their next move.  Dark enough for Harrison and MacGyver, he corrected.

          Paul ground his teeth.  He hated letting others take the risks he should be taking himself, especially when it was his job to keep them safe!  And most especially when he wasn't at all sure _why_ they were doing it in the first place, but MacGyver swore he knew what he was doing.

          He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain that throbbed across his back and in his head.  Before long he'd be unable to do anything but lie flat on his back.  Whatever it was MacGyver had in mind, it had better work.

          "It's time," the troubleshooter whispered.

          Ironhorse opened his eyes, watching while the two civilians crawled out of the brush and made their way over to the Bronco.  With his Swiss Army knife, MacGyver loosened the screws and quietly removed the glass covering the truck's headlights.  Harrison slipped to the rear of the vehicle to do the same with the red tail-light plastic covers.  Stravrakos provided cover.

          The Colonel blinked the sweat out of his eyes, nearly missing MacGyver as he scurried back to the wash.  Harrison joined them a few seconds later, then the sergeant.

          "We're just about ready," Mac said with a smile.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and MacGyver chomped on the sugar-free gum while Ironhorse and Stravrakos worked over the dish the headlight glass provided.  Packing the explosives into the two halves, they turned to the red pieces of plastic, filling them as well.  That done, they set the timers.

          "How long?" Stravrakos asked.

          Ironhorse glanced at MacGyver.  "Ten minutes?"

          The troubleshooter nodded.

          The sergeant set the timers, but left them deactivated.

          "Paul, are you sure?" Harrison asked, his blue gaze sweeping over the soldier's pale features and trembling hands.

          The Colonel nodded.  "They know we're up here.  You'd draw attention," he explained for the third time.  "All we're going to do is walk in there, deliver these _crystals_ , walk out, and blow them back to Mars."

          Blackwood sighed.  He knew why the soldier had to go, but he didn't like it.  The man could barely stay on his feet; if it turned nasty…

          He cut the depressing thought off.  If it worked, they'd be able to detonate the explosion while the aliens were gathered around the crystals, trilling in groups of three as they had every three hours since they began bringing the crystals up.

          Ironhorse and MacGyver would have ten minutes to escape the blast zone.  Blackwood prayed it would be long enough.

          "Ready?" Mac asked.

          Harrison nodded.

          Removing their gum, the pair stretched it around the lip of the clear glass, pressing the packed twin to it, gum gluing them together.  The astrophysicist's rubber bands secured the two tail-light pieces.

          "Voilá," MacGyver said, holding up the completed work.  "Alien crystals.  Shall we deliver them?" 

          "No time like the present," the Colonel concurred.

          Taking a deep breath, Ironhorse wiped the sweat off his forehead and accepted the rigged "crystal" from Harrison.  This had better work.

          Stravrakos handed Mac the larger bomb.

          "Stay here," Paul told Blackwood, then, glancing at the sergeant, he added, "And you see to it he does."

          "Yes, sir," the burly sergeant said.  "I'll try."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          MacGyver and Ironhorse stood in the pine shadows, watching while three aliens made their way up out of water with their finds, carrying them to the pile of drying crystals.  A single alien emerged next, carting a large blue crystal to the pile. The four spoke for a moment, then moved off into the trees.

          When they had disappeared from sight, the two men eased down to the shore, soaking their clothes, then emerging out of the water and making their way to the pile, imitating the reverent slow walk, bowed heads and glassy stares.

          Reaching the nearly two foot tall pile, MacGyver bent forward and eased the bomb into the stack.  Several of the multi-colored crystals fell over the human handiwork, hiding it.  Ironhorse did the same.  Together they stood for a moment, then walked on past the pile and into the nearby trees.

          Ironhorse's attention returned to the surroundings and he strained to make out any noise that would warn him that they'd been discovered.  MacGyver did the same.

          The Colonel silently acknowledged MacGyver's cool under pressure.  No doubt a necessary prerequisite for the line of work he was in.  Still, until he'd seen an alien dissolve up close, the soldier was sure there would be a lingering trace of doubt in the man's mind concerning the true identity of their enemy.

          They continued into the trees, avoiding the other aliens scattered about the woods, working on various pieces of incomprehensible equipment.  A faint snap caught Ironhorse's breath in his chest and he saw MacGyver stiffen.  Glancing down at his watch the Colonel knew that the aliens would be arranging themselves around the pile to start their bizarre ritual.

          A second unidentified sound echoed out of the stillness around them.  The two men waited in silence.

          "You there," a gruff male voice called.  The pair turned to face one of the blended forest rangers.  "You have found the missing humans.  Good.  It is time to gather with the crystals.  Come."

          The humans exchanged a brief glance.  They could not return to the shore.

          "We saw movement," Ironhorse ventured.  "We will investigate."

          "No," the alien snapped, his eyes narrowing.  "You must return to the crystals.  They must be incubated."

          Ironhorse shifted, one hand inching up his back to free the battle baton.

          The two men waited nervously as the aliens moved closer.  "You are not one of us," the ranger/alien growled.

          "Any ideas?" MacGyver asked in a whisper.

          "Get out of here," the soldier replied, freeing the knife and dropping into a crouch.  "Now!"

          Mac allowed himself a glance at the Colonel.  The man was serious and that, more than anything, scared him.

          A bellow from the blended human who had discovered them brought two more on the run.

          "I don't think so, Colonel.  _You_ have the knife."

          Ironhorse, deciding not to wait, lunged, the battle baton held at arm's length like a spear.  The long, double-sided blade slipped easily into the ranger/alien's midsection, and the soldier stepped away as it fell, already beginning to dissolve.

          MacGyver stared at the frothing remains, the reality of the situation pounding home with painful intensity, but he was quickly prodded into action when Ironhorse grabbed his arm and pulled him into the trees.  The shadows were darker, sunset just settling in around them.  They had about twenty minutes of decent light left before they'd be playing tag in the dark.  If they could just get back to the others, and the weapons…

          One of the campers burst through the pines, grabbing MacGyver's jacket.  Mac's hands flew up on either side of the alien's human arm in a standard martial arts maneuver.  A sick tearing sound heralded the being's third arm bursting free from the human chest, locking three slimy digits around the civilian's throat.      With a quick step back, Mac tried to wrench free, only to discover that the aliens were stronger than their hosts.  He tried a second time, fighting back panic as the three fingers closed off his air. This time the hand holding his jacket was forced free.

          A solid kick to the man/thing's mid-section helped loosen the vise on his neck, and a second crashing stomp to the alien's foot freed a cry of pain and anger from the monster.

          Mac's fingers closed expertly on the Swiss Army knife he carried, sliding it from his pocket.  He freed the thickest blade even as he continued to struggle, trying to keep the human hands from subduing him.  With a yell, he drew the blade across the creature's face, pulled back and attacked again.  The alien screamed, back-peddling away from MacGyver, then dropped to its knees, hands coming up to the dissolving face.

          A cry from Ironhorse diverted MacGyver's attention and scanning the woods, he spotted the soldier, caught in a pitched hand to hand fight with another park ranger.  Mac sprinted toward the pair as the ranger delivered a vicious kick to the Colonel's wounded knee.  A second cry broke through the night air.

          Mac tackled the invader around the shoulders, the force of his charge carrying them several feet past Ironhorse, who was scrambling for his dropped knife.  Trying to avoid the creature's third arm, MacGyver dropped and lunged away.  The ranger followed.

          Ironhorse scooped up the weapon with a growl, circling into the trees and emerging with the battle baton ready.  He thrust the blade between the alien's shoulder blades as it passed by, trying again for the troubleshooter.

          The alien dropped to its knees, the colonel pulling the weapon free as it collapsed.

          Mac stood nearby, hands on his knees, fighting to regain his breath.  "You okay?" he panted.

          Ironhorse nodded just as the explosion tore through the descending dusk.  The two men dropped to the ground, Paul rolling over with a groan and staring up at the night sky.

          "You're bleeding again," MacGyver announced unnecessarily.  "Hang in there, Colonel."

          The man snorted.  It wasn't like he hadn't faced worst situations…  "Thanks."

          Mac studied the pain-filled eyes and the fever-flushed face.  "How long have you been doing this?"

          "Too long," was the evasive reply.

          "At least the odds are looking better," Harrison's voice added.

          The Colonel struggled to a seated position, glowering at the scientist and the sergeant.  "I thought I told you to stay put."

          "I wanted to see the fireworks," Blackwood lied with a grin.  "Norton called.  The transmissions are dropping off.  It looks like the attacks are ending."

          "They should be sending someone to pick us up at dawn, sir," Stravrakos added.

          Ironhorse nodded, his eyes squeezing shut as a second explosion went off inside his skull.  "Piece of cake," he moaned just before he passed out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and MacGyver eased Ironhorse down, leaning him back against the rough bark of the large pine.  Fifty yards further on the Forrester cabin sat, dark and silent.

          After a moment the soldier's eyes blinked open.  "Report," he said softly.

          "Sir," Stravrakos said, "it looks like we got most of 'em.  And whatever those crystals were, they're just sand and broken glass, now."

          "Any contact?"

          The Sergeant nodded.  "Three so far."

          Ironhorse nodded.  After Blackwood had roused him, the Colonel had refused to let them rest until they reached their destination.  Now, the first orange streaks of dawn rippled along the horizon.  Together they sat, watching the building as they caught their breath.

          MacGyver glanced at Blackwood, both men noticing Paul's slight wheezing, as well as the chalky-gray pallor of his skin, the pale light doing little to improve his appearance.  The fine sheen of sweat told both that Ironhorse's fever was climbing, and the black eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look.

          Mac reached out and checked the man's pulse, a move Ironhorse had not tolerated earlier.  It was fast and weaker than the civilian would have liked.  "You're sure your people will come here?" he asked quietly.

          Ironhorse nodded.  "It's the only place we could go."  He coughed and shivered.

          "How much longer?" Blackwood asked the young sergeant.

          "Less than an hour," he replied.

          "I hope you're right."

          Ironhorse closed his eyes and allowed a small crooked smile to play across his lips.  "Me, too."

          "I'd like to hear more about these creatures," Mac said, watching Harrison as he stripped off his jacket and arranged it over Ironhorse's chest.

          Blackwood nodded.  "I'll give you a briefing when we're out of here."

          "Here they come," Stravrakos interrupted, his eyes searching the sky.  After a moment the others heard the faint _wop-wop-wop_ of the approaching chopper.

          "They're here, Paul," Harrison said, leaning closer to Ironhorse's ear.

          "Affirmative, Doctor," was the whispered reply.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat on the edge of his hospital bed, fidgeting.  He hated hospitals.  He hated waiting.  And he really hated the way Blackwood totally ignored his direct orders.  He'd told the man, nohospitals, Goodson, the Omega medic, could take care of him just fine, but did Harrison listen?  No, of course not!  Did he ever listen? No!

          So what if he'd pulled his knee, that would heal.  He had two grazes, what was the big deal?  He might have a mild concussion, but it was probably just a headache for a few days!  He had bigger headaches – like Blackwood himself!

          Here he sat, trapped in a room, dressed in a gown only fit for a flasher, and where was Blackwood?  _He_ was out talking to MacGyver.  _He_ was able to go get a decent meal.  _He_ had access to Norton's coffee!

          _You're dead meat, mister…_

          The door whisked open, admitting a perky nurse with a tray of gear.  He hated perky.

          "So how are you feeling?" she asked with a smile.

          "Fine," he said.  "When am I leaving?"

          The smile remained firmly in place.  "Not until the doctor says so."

          The black eyes narrowed.  "When can I see the doctor?"

          "When he makes his rounds," she checked her watch.  "That should be in about an hour, but don't get your hopes up."  She maneuvered behind the Colonel and checked the shoulder wound.  "We want to make sure no infection sets in, and get you in for a couple of physical therapy sessions for your knee."

          Ironhorse sighed heavily.

          "But this looks good," she told him, redressing the wound and patting him softly on the arm.

          "Great."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The nurse gathered her equipment and, with a final bright smile, left the colonel alone.  Standing, he limped around the small room.  At least he was alone.  He paused, rummaging through the small stack of magazines on the nightstand, but he'd already read everything he wanted to.  Glancing up, he contemplated turning the television on, but decided it would be more than his already frayed patience could stand.

          "Hi!"

          Ironhorse jumped, one hand reaching automatically to pull the gown closed at the back as he spun around.

          "Blackwood," he growled.

          "How do you feel?"

          "Fine, I feel _fine_ ," he stated.  "I keep telling everyone that, but no one's listening!"

          "Keep that up, and everyone's going to know, Colonel," MacGyver said, stepping up behind Blackwood.

          The soldier glanced at the ceiling.  "Grandfather, please?"

          The two men entered and took seats in the only chairs in the room, forcing Ironhorse to retreat to the bed.  "The General issued you your amnesty," Harrison said, reaching out to pull the magazines into his lap, then shuffled through them.  Finding nothing of interest, he returned the pile to the nightstand.

          "Oh?" the Colonel asked.

          "Yep," Blackwood grinned.  "We can take you home this evening, _if_ you're a good Colonel and do everything the doctor tells you."

          Black eyes narrowed dangerously.

          "So, Paul," Mac interrupted, saving the astrophysicist from imminent death, "it looks like we'll be working together again sometime."

          The black eyebrows climbed.  "We will?"

          "General Wilson has agreed to let MacGyver run some tests on the crystal fragments we salvaged at one of the Phoenix Foundation facilities."

          The Colonel nodded.  "Think there's a chance you can figure out what they were going to do with those things?"

          Mac shrugged.  "Don't know, but I'll give it a shot."

          "Whatever they were, it must have been important," Blackwood said softly.  "From the reports, it looks like your people took out about two hundred aliens."

          "Casualties?"

          "Thirteen civilians killed and over forty injured," the scientist replied softly.

          "My men?"

          Blackwood took a deep breath.  "Eight dead, twelve injured."

          Ironhorse's lips pressed into a thin line of frustration.

          Silence settled over the three men, finally broken by Harrison.  "If they continue this kind of activity…"

          "It's going to be hard to keep things under wraps," MacGyver finished.  "Have you thought about bringing in more people to work on the problem?"

          "We have been," Blackwood told him.  "But we haven't been able to decipher their language, or develop a reliable method for predicting their behavior.  Until we do both—"

          "We're stuck reacting, instead of forcing them to react," the Colonel finished.

          MacGyver nodded.  It was going to be a long struggle.  But at least he knew about it, and maybe he could help.  The Phoenix Foundation had some resources of its own.

  


* * *

[1]  References to the episodes "Tough Boys" and "The Treasure of Manco" where Richard Chaves (Ironhorse) had guest appearances.


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